Official Feast of the Circle

[corinthia]

Feast of the Circle of Lords​

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616 ABY, First Quarter

Imperial Palace, Kaas City, Dromund Kaas​

In the heart of the Stygian Caldera, deep within its swirling, protective nebula, a convocation of the galaxy’s darkest and most powerful personalities had gathered, dressed in their best regalia for this prestigious occasion. The table was set with a grand feast, an annual celebration of the Final Sith Order’s finest leaders: the Circle of Lords. Twelve High Lords of noble mein, gathered about a round table, waiting with bated breath and eager blades to be told where the year’s conquest would take them. With them was the Dark Council, interspersed with the High Lords, chatting amicably over ale and wine. This banquet hall was at the top of a tall spire of the Imperial Palace in Kaas City, overlooking the shining metropolis built by centuries of slavish dedication to a recovering Final Sith Order. Its opulence was paid for in blood, earned by decades of conquest under the sanguine red flag of the Order– which was mirrored in the ostentatious crimson tapestries dripping on every wall of the banquet hall, bearing the ever-watchful Sigil of the Order. It was a beautiful space, pristinely clean and gleaming with newness. All around the spire, thunder rumbled and lightning cracked, as was usual for early spring on Dromund Kaas; the snow of winter had melted away, and now the roaring foul weather of spring had begun.

Imperatrix Leto-Hesphora, called Leto the Superator, She That Conquers, had her booted feet kicked up on the table, and she wore her full armor and regalia. On her golden head was her mother’s Crown of the Imperatrix, once belonging to the noble Empress Hesper, its tangled black thorns reaching skyward. Across her lap lay Spina, her fabled, famous sword, darkly glinting in the bright white lights of the banquet room. She was swathed in a regal blue cloak, its heavy fabric clasped at one shoulder by a large brooch proudly bearing the Final Sith Order’s eye insignia. Her aura was thunderous, and her eyes, dark like the roiling sea, slid blithely over the tableau before her.

Before her on the table was a mug of fine ale, an empty place setting, and the datapad which contained all the secrets she was about to unveil to those within the hall. To her right, draped over an armed chair just behind Leto, was Mnemosyne, adviser to the Empress. She was clothed in rumpled ivory robes, her ginger curls– with telltale horns identifying her as Zabrak poking out from the crown of her head– a stark contrast against them. In her hand was a small songbird which she was absentmindedly murmuring to, eliciting contented chirps in response from the bird. Her hazel-green eyes were fixed on the banquet table, however, holding each subject in skin-crawling regard for milliseconds too long. The air seemed to vibrate around this woman.

But to Leto’s immediate right and left were seated her Triumvirate: The Shadow Hand Lord Dumé Xarxes and the Lucent Hand Lady Vasirion.

The Onderonian’s dark brown hair fell in loose curls past her shoulders, with blue and gold ribbons braided into two strands around the top of her head. The ribbons matched that of her dress, which was one more typically seen amongst her planet’s nobles. She held a cup of wine in one hand, with a golden necklace wrapped from her wrist to her fingers on the other. Her yellow eyes seemed to scan the members of the Circle as well, and she did not shy away from holding her stare a bit too long with them. She was younger than most in attendance, but what she lacked in years of life she made up for in her reputation. Though not all the whispers about Darth Vasirion could be confirmed by anything other than rumors, it was clear to anyone that the Dark Lady was deadly, wicked, and cruel.

The stalwart figure of the Arkanian Patriarch was, on the other hand, expressionless and stoic. Gleaming armor adorned his entire body, draped over with robes of white. A hood with golden lining rested atop his head, stopping just above his piercing eyes, the only window into his thoughts. By all appearances, he bore no weapons around the double-buckle girdle he wore, though all here knew he did not need them. His steely facade regarded the members of the Circle as a rancor might regard a Bolma. He had eaten nothing tonight and, with the exception of a brief exchange with the Empress, had not spoken either. He was focused in thought, his gaze darting from the members of the Circle to the Imperatrix, to her ever-attentive Zabrak lackey, no true connection, save political, existing in the mind of Dumé for these various individuals.

“Before we continue the feast,” Imperatrix Leto spoke, slicing through the various conversations. Her Imperial accent was clipped, lilting. “We will begin with what I am sure you’ve all been eagerly waiting for.” She touched the datapad before her. “The next year’s conquest.” Standing, she sheathed Spina, and swept her gaze around the table. “And there is another matter which requires the attention of the Circle.”

The cloaked Dark Lord Maldeus cast his gaze around the room, not finding any of his peers—or inferiors—too interesting to stare at for longer than a second at a time. He had said little the entire evening and eaten even less. None had seen past his mask, save for the Empress Herself, and even then, that had only been out of necessity. His refusal to divulge much information about himself, even hiding what he looked like, made him quite the enigma amongst this lot. Especially considering he had risen far beyond most in a short time, winning the right to claim the title of Dark Councillor only a few years after joining the Final Sith Order. Though any questions those here may have had about him were far less likely to be answered than the real question on all their minds now: what matter was there that needed the attention of all the Circle?

Klavius Reiix Fenris wasn't the type to appreciate social gatherings much. They were of little value to him and accomplished even less. Yet there he was, seated among the others and awaiting two things: to know the reason he was summoned here, and to leave once he found out. That was his plan. Not that things involving the Empress ever went according to his plans. Ah, well. At least he was used to it by now.

He was never one for the fancy formal attire for these sorts of things, but his black cloak was clean and his leather bracers and leg wraps shone with a recent polishing. His white fur was unblemished and he smelled of earth and sweet tobacco, not an overpowering scent, but enough to diminish any "wet dog" smell he might carry, thanks to this planet and its sodden environment.

His amber eyes fixed on Imperatrix Leto as she spoke, ears perked attentively as he peered over the rim of his wine-filled goblet. No whiskey or moonshine at this event; he would have to settle for the more sophisticated alcohol tonight.

Lord Skyodis sat patiently in his assigned place, his arms folded, his expression neutral. He was dressed in his battle armour, as he found that the most appropriate garb to wear to this occasion. His alchemical mask made him look much younger than he truly was, to the unsuspecting eye, he could have been in his mid to late thirties, not over fifty years older. He had not partaken in any of the alcohol offered to him, as he regarded it as little more than a slow acting poison which dulled the senses of the drinker and left their senses clouded, leaving them more open to an attack. The last of his guards that had been caught on duty inebriated had been drowned by forcing wine down his throat until he choked on it, with the execution having been witnessed by the rest of his company as a lesson. Safe to say that none in his service had been caught drunk on duty ever since. Skyodis had taken a small plate of food to be a gracious guest, however. His Empress had summoned him, and to refuse what she had offered would be disrespectful.

He paid little attention to his fellows aside from the occasional glance now and again. Skyodis was not one for small talk or idle chatter. He had been patiently awaiting for the Empress to reveal exactly why they had been summoned here tonight. He had suspected that she intended to reveal their next conquest, and had been eagerly anticipating it the entire evening. When the Empress finally did speak, Skyodis leant forward to listen intently. He raised an eyebrow when she mentioned there was another matter that required the Circle of Lords’ attention, but patiently awaited for the Empress to expand on it herself, choosing to remain respectfully quiet. His eyes swept around the table to gauge the reactions of his fellow High Lords and Ladies.

Lord Myrkr sat near his fellow Shistavanen Lord Fenris and greeted him in his native tongue, which sounded like mere growls and barks. Myrkr did not mind the social environment; it gave him the chance to see everyone and watch how other powerful Sith interact, which he found fascinating, especially when it came to the humans, near-humans, and non-humans. The added bonus of food and alcohol was just a plus in his book.

Myrkr chose to wear his fancy clothing rather than his armor: a gray colored tunic with simple but elegant patterns, light gray trousers, and a black cloak with the hood down, of course, and his black fur groomed to his liking. His yellow eyes were on the Imperatrix, his ears pointing in her direction.

In contrast to many of those gathered, Tymon Pavor indulged eagerly in both food and ale and was at this moment half way through his second plate and many steins into the night as Imperatrix Leto addressed them. Knowing his plate would go cold he gave it a disappointed look and leaned back into his chair, she had better have something planned for dessert. His eyes shifting from the banquet, to the hostess, he couldn't help but notice that she looked young, still? Always. Surely one so innocent and fair appearing couldn’t be the one to rule a Sith Empire so foul and unforgiving, yet she did, and was in fact far older and more diabolical than himself and most others in attendance to boot, her rule had guided them through a nearly unrivaled time of peril and strife within the galaxy and she was powerful enough to command obedience. More important than all that was that she had made him wealthy beyond measure, as long as that didn’t change he was loyal. As he waited to hear what the Empress had to say, his many ringed hand sought the cold reassurance of the crystal topped walking cane which rested against his leg, it had belonged to his mother and he found its presence reassuring. If he knew Leto for sure that would be offering dessert that would be reassuring, a grumbling stomach made for a grumbling Bimm. “She probably won’t even serve dessert.” He muttered to himself.

Cold sat amongst the fellow Circle members, though they seemed to give him a little distance. Usually that was normal for anyone that knew there was an Anzati amongst them, but the Circle had nothing to worry about from his hunger, he had promised the Council a long time ago that no one important would be touched without their permission. No, they probably kept their distance due the icy feeling anyone got too close to him felt.

Such was the case with Lady Kulshedra, who had been assigned the seat closest to him. Perhaps this had been done due to the Mirialan’s affinity for the elements, but in any case, Kulshedra could not help but sporadically shiver in her seat. Her long black dress and its fade into purple both contrasted sharply with her golden flesh, and while its simple style was comfortable, it was not designed to insulate heat. Fortunately, the Imperatrix’s exquisite dishes and fabulous wine helped dull the chill.

Kulshedra spared a glance or two in the direction of her old master, Lord Maldeus, though his mask made the effort pointless. His mask had always been a hindrance when it came to reading the man, and Kulshedra suspected he preferred it that way. Very few words had been spoken by anyone so far, in fact, a relative silence that had Kulshedra racked with anticipation. Compared to many of the others in attendance, she had very recently been promoted to her station in the Circle; nevertheless, just being invited to the Imperatrix’s banquet was enough to have her mind running wild for the opportunities it might present, and the thought of Kulshedra’s new warships finally being tested in combat was nothing short of exhilarating.

As the Empress finally addressed them, Cold reached for the glass chalice before him. Having forgone the meal, as he didn’t think it would be appropriate to enjoy the Soup amongst the others, he was given Blood Wine to sate his appetite while there. Once his hand touched the glass it frosted over, chilling the drink within. As the Empress stood, he raised the glass in a quiet toast to the host with a sly smile, and then imbibed on the succulent drink for a moment before setting it down. As always the information for her decision was a well kept secret, and he absolutely loved secrets.

Achlys silently split her attention between watching her fellow High Lords and discreetly monitoring her latest “volunteer” through the pocket sized data pad she had concealed. She hoped this one would last a little longer than his predecessor. It was incredibly frustrating when they expired too soon.

There weren’t many around the table she knew and those she did, she had acknowledged by a slow dip of her head. The food and drink she ate cautiously, tasting for any telltale signs of poison. Though she didn’t notice anything being off, she still narrowed her jewel-green eyes at the plate and drink in front of her, deciding not to trust it. She returned to observing her fellow diners.

The Melinoë was enjoying fantasies of what types of poisons and what other ways she could use to kill the other Lords when Leto’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Annoyed, Achlys gave the Empress her attention. There’s always another conquest with this one. Although, she tilted her head in curiosity, this other secret business might be interesting.

As she waited for Leto to expand on her words, Achlys snuck another look at her data pad and frowned at the readings. It looked like this one wasn’t going to last, either. How disappointing.

Lady Tryzen was swirling her glass and looking at the data pad she had brought with her. The information that scrolled past were little more than scouting reports and requests for more manpower, that of which she had little time for. It was hard to reach the outer limits of the galaxy, her ancestral home lay waiting to be rediscovered along with whatever artifacts she could add to her slowly growing collection. She was dressed down, for such an occasion, and seemed out of place among the others. Her simple black tunic and pants made her pop out and blind into the background at the same time should someone stop paying attention to her long enough.

As the Empress spoke, Tryzen laid her data pad down and picked up her stein of ale once again. It was her second, or third? She couldn't remember after being consumed by the reports she had just read, but businesses of state always took precedence over her own endeavors.

An exceptional feast had been laid out before them seemingly scattered across the large embellished table accompanied by drinks of many sorts. Wine, ale, and something the Rex Principius couldn't quite make out that Lord Cold appeared to be enjoying, filled everyone's cup. Swirling the wine in his glass around and inhaling deeply to better detect the aroma, Lord Töricht scanned the room attempting to lock eyes with each Lord in attendance to acknowledge everyone's presence, a politeness he had picked up from a life of many formal dinners.

Noting the company he found himself in Töricht sipped on his wine and turned his undivided attention toward the Empress. After all, the whole reason he was even sitting here and found himself a part of this circle was for the betterment of Utapau and its populace.

High Lord Ekrizdis Cygni VII cut an eccentric figure at the far end of the table, clad in their preferred black velvet and silk lined robes, long ebony tresses teased a foot high. Upon first glance of their gaunt, androgynous face meticulously accented with makeup more fitting of a trending musician, the Nagai’s gender wasn’t apparent. Their layered robes covered any apparent curve of a female, and their gangly limbs lacked the defined musculature of most males. Speaking to them gave no further indication, as Ekrizdis Cygni possessed a high, musical voice that could belong to either gender binary, or neither. For as long as their limited memory served, they always presented in this manner. Fluctuating between masculine and feminine, and never wholly feeling committed to either. Perhaps their mortal flesh housed the spirits of many Cygni warriors that hailed from Nagi. Or maybe they possess a singular, disoriented spirit. Now wasn’t the time to mull upon it.

As usual, they ignored the food, and heeded the hissing voices warning them of the potent poisons laced within the luxuriant food, but the disembodied chatters said nothing of the wine and as such Ekrizdis Cygni helped themselves to two full glasses, and now held a third in their bejeweled hand, claw like black nails studded with crystal tapping an restless rhythm on the chalice. Their left hand held a smoldering death stick within grasp of their black painted lips. The position of High Lord still felt quite new and unfamiliar, the ceaseless voices mocked their imposter syndrome, but Ekrizdis knew their potential deep at heart. Being a schizophrenic non binary Nagai never prevented them from aspiring toward greatness. A bit of anxiety was meaningless compared to the lofty challenges they’d surmounted.

“Hey… listen!” croaked the service raven, Matthew, who fluttered impatiently on their shoulder. A clear sign for Ekrizdis Cygni to rise above the sibilant chatter and focus upon their liege, Imperatrix Leto.

Lord Rakshas grazed each of its insectoid fingers into a pyramidal cone as the Superator’s voice came sliding across the room. She was ever the curious one, certainly enough to merit being part of her regime. And it certainly was useful. Knowledge, power, and freedom went hand in hand here, and it would hopefully continue to make for an efficient match.

The blank hands, wrapped in artificial clothing, filled and stroked restlessly, as if drawing patterns. Understanding was important after all.

Eventually the Polydroxol’s face gleamed a dull silver as it turned towards the Imperatrix, patiently and politely awaiting the incoming information. Golden eyes gleamed among blank dark silver, radiating an almost childlike, whimsical attention. What would the target be this time…?

Leto snapped her fingers, and the lights of the banquet hall dimmed, honing all into anticipatory focus; reaching forward, she tapped on the datapad she had brought, and suddenly, a large hologram sprung to life above the middle of the long table, bathing the room in brilliant cyan light. It was a planet: verdant, mountainous, capped on both poles with modest glaciers, and featuring a goodly handful of capital cities whose sprawls could be clearly seen, even from this distance and scale. It was not evident immediately what world this was, and the Circle would look on with rapt attention.

“This is Muunilinst,” the Imperatrix said, pointing a finger at the hologram. “It is, by all accounts, a lovely world on the western side of the galaxy; until now it has been out of our reach, as we’ve not been able to adequately meet the resource needs for such a long trip. But this only means that this world has had centuries to accrue wealth– wealth that will soon be ours."

The hologram changed to display a lazily rotating logo. InterGalactic Banking Clan. "Muunilinst has had a long history as the galaxy's premier source of banking and wealth management. This year's conquest intends to commandeer and subjugate the current iteration of Muunilinst's Banking Clan, and bring the planet to heel."

Fenris kept his unblinking golden stare fixed on the Empress even as he took a long pull of the dry wine from the goblet clenched in his paw. He had heard of Muunilinst. The IGBC definitely rings some bells of familiarity, but he may have very well been the only one present who wasn't salivating over the aforementioned wealth. Sure, credits afforded a great deal of luxury he partook in every now and again, but riches were never anything of which he was in personal pursuit. Still, whatever Leto wanted of him; wherever she would have him serve, he would do it and do it well.

He glanced over at the slightly smaller, much darker Shistavanen Lord Myrkr. Indeed they had their similarities, but their differences were just as many. The white wolf's mixed blood made him roughly a head taller than Lord Myrkr. Fenris silently wondered what he was thinking in all of this. They had yet to work closely with one another. Was he as driven by promises of wealth as their comrades? Not that it mattered much. Fenris was just seeking common ground as he often felt misplaced among most of the Sith his apparent destiny had brought him to. He took another pull of wine, savoring the dry bite and longing for its effects to ease his ever-present tension. And hunger.

Muunilinst, hmm? Do I really want to go?

Achlys had raised her head at the sound of the Empress’ voice. She listened silently and debated with herself.

On one hand, she had experiments that she had to finish within a time limit. Going to Muunilinst would take too long, which would cause a chain reaction….

Her thoughts trailed off as Achlys studied the image of Muunilinst. Everything was green and healthy and abundant. It was calling to her to test just how much devastation she can wreak with her poisons and disease in a bottle. She might also be able to gain more volunteers as well as some new plants…

A quiet beeping took the Melinoe’s attention away. She glanced at her pad and frowned in disappointment. Her latest volunteer was almost dead. She pushed a button that silenced the beeping as well as called up a small holo of the almost dead. He was a human male, shirtless and barefoot. He was hanging by the shackles around his wrists and ankles. All four of his appendages were bloodied which merely added to the stains on his shackles as well as the floor. She coldly watched the once handsome human’s life flee from him, though she did gain a spark of interest when she saw his eyes burst like pimples being squeezed. That’s new, she thought. She quickly shot a texted order to her assistant.

“Experiment 626 has expired. Take note of ALL symptoms and perform autopsy. Discard him with others. I want a full report."

Achlys shut her pad off and concealed it once more, knowing that her assistant, -Quinn? Kelm? Quasi? Definitely something with a hard “K” sound-, would comply with her orders. Otherwise, he (she? She couldn’t keep track anymore. This was the beginning to be an issue.) would find themselves the next one volunteered.

Her green eyes tracked back to the image of Muunilinst and gleamed with possibilities. Yes, this will be fun. Achlys turned to Leto and asked, “Is there anything else we should know?”

‘Muunilist.’ In his hundred years of studying, Cold had read about all the important planets of the past. The Intergalactic Banking Clan was definitely a target the Empire would salivate at attaining. But it was more than that. There was a specific member of the race’s history that the High Lord was interested in. At the time no one knew his true identity, but history always has a way of revealing secrets in the end. Darth Plagueis.

While he was a Dark Lord of the Sith, and the fallen Master of Darth Sidious, Cold was not interested in his knowledge of the Dark Side. No, what he was interested in was the scientific experiments the Muun had performed. If he could find any information that could possibly lead to a hidden lab while the Empire conquered the planet, this would be worth it.

Muunilinst, when Lord Myrkr heard this would be the site of the next conquest, he looked to Lord Fenris with a wicked grin. He had heard much of the banking clan and people. To him they came off as a greedy bunch. As money was no concern to Myrkr, he found the idea of slaughter and torment as just the thing he was hoping for. Myrkr looked around at the others to see their reactions before looking to his fellow (mostly) Shistavanen Lord Fenris once again, saying in native Shistavanen, his voice low, "This should be fun," before taking the rest of his drink in one gulp.

This was not going to be fun for Maldeus, however. His old business partner, Garga, had plenty of connections to the Banking Clan. Most smaller companies in the Outer Rim did. Conquering Muunilinst was an inevitability, but having to hear Garga go on and on about how the war was cutting into his bottom line would be a dread on their frequent holocalls. At least those stuck-up Muuns would get what was coming to them.

Kulshedra’s expression remained neutral, though internally her reaction was conflicted. The Mirialan woman had already attained more wealth than she could have ever imagined before she joined the Sith, and to horde even more of the galaxy’s riches was an enticing prospect. Nevertheless, she knew her newly-achieved status hinged in small part to her revitalization of the Imperial StarFleet, and while Kulshedra had heard that the Muuns were experts of finance, she couldn’t silence the doubts in her mind that they would not be an adequate challenge to prove the worth of her new warships.

Tymon’s discontent over the aforementioned desserts is briefly forgotten by the promise of such a worthy conquest and his deep and robust laugh filled the room as he leaned forward to retrieve his ale stein, “A bold choice!” He proclaimed before draining the mug and slamming it down on the table, belching proudly he turned and motioned to the server for more ale. The move against Muunilinst would serve to strengthen the Empress’ position against her Empire’s enemies, a victory here would also enrich the Empire’s citizens, and that was good for business. His business specifically. What benefited the Empress usually benefited him so he would be crazy to not support her conquest, and he was now almost certain that any dessert plans would be forgotten in the excitement... ”Where is my ale!” he hollered at the server who was apparently moving far too slow.

Seated beside the Empress, Lord Xarxes thought similarly for a moment. The IGBC had been kept from Arkania for centuries now, the ties with it cut by his ancestors in order to make the planet self-sustaining. He saw it as a festering hive of leeches, ready to get their spindly fingers on whatever resources other systems had to offer, or to impress upon them massive amounts of debt to the point where they would never financially recover. This was to say nothing of Xarxes’ own prejudices, especially after his former steward’s treachery…

That was beside the point for now. The conquest of Muunilinst would mean economic growth and control for the Sith, a farther-reaching arm than nearly anything else the Sith had at their disposal presently. Credits, in many ways, were more deadly than a lightsaber. Apart from being undeniable, they were much more effective at inflicting despair on others.

Lord Taranos was seated next to Lord Dumé Xarxes, and his behavior came in stark contrast to the Arkanian's. Taranos had already finished a couple plates of food and had just slammed down his sixth stein of ale when the announcement of the Conquest of Muunilinst came down. He quickly motioned a nearby server for a seventh, as it was going to take a lot more to break the tolerance of a man his size who had nearly 200 years of drinking experience.

Muunilinst was a great choice for the next conquest, he thought, as controlling that sort of berth of funds would be crucial to the Sith’s grip on the galactic populace. Though the joint Kingdom of Firefist was too far outside the Skyriver for this to affect it, and denizens of Stenos preferred to barter and trade, Taranos knew how important the IGBC was to the prolonged success of the Final Sith Order.

"Muunilinst and the IGBC will soon be in your grip, Imperatrix," the God of Lightning said. "I can take four or five of you there in minutes, unless you fear interdimensional wormhole clouds."

Dumé scoffed in silence. He’s not even the only one capable of such here, and surely he knows the risks associated with such a procedure, even to the Empress…

Skyodis sat up as the Imperatrix announced that Muunilinst was to be their next conquest. It was an excellent choice, in his opinion. Seizing control of the IGBC and tightening their grip on the recovering Galactic economy would provide the Sith with an advantage going forward. No doubt the IGBC would also have control of several important trade lanes that the Order could use to spread their influence throughout the greater galaxy. For him, personally, the boon they would acquire from the conquest of Muunilinst could be put towards more expeditions to worlds previously out of the Preservers’ reach. A chance to recover more lost technology and lore of the old galaxy, before the Dark Age.

Yes, Muunilinst would be a great conquest. He did not articulate these thoughts out loud, but instead nodded respectfully at the Imperatrix. He did not need to make a grand gesture of support to her plan. All who knew Lord Skyodis knew his loyalty and support was absolute.

"Your offer is generous, Lord Taranos, but unnecessary. We will conquest as we always have, with the full force of the Imperial Fleet and the Final Legion." The hologram of Muunilinst returned. "We will launch a full-scale ground assault on its capital, Harnaidan, with special focus on securing and subjugating the IGBC headquarters.”

“The restoration and expansion of the Lianna Fleetyards has yielded more progress than I expected, Imperatrix,” Kulshedra reported, a thoughtful hand resting on her smooth chin. “Though my fleet modernization program is far from complete, I should have enough new warships ready to help form the core of our invasion force. What defenses can we expect to face?”

Leto tapped the datapad, and the planet shrank, with scrolling feeds of data appearing alongside it, regaling the Lords of the Circle on expected defenses. “My reconnaissance teams report relatively weak orbital defense– as is typical– but have evidence of a well-trained ground force, as well as police and your everyday bank security detail. We will drop in troops at the city center of Harnaidan, as well as at key locations at the edges of the city. Elsewhere, troops will be waiting in reserve. Additionally–” a bird’s eye view of Muunilinst and its neighboring planets appeared– “We will be placing just a handful of ships between Scipio and Mygeeto– key member planets of the IGBC– to scoop up anyone attempting to run for help.”

The wolf warlord had a tolerance for hard liquor that rivaled the strength of a dreadnought's hull. This wine with its much lower proof was annoying. Fenris might have to drink an entire keg before he felt at ease. He mentally cursed these lavish gatherings. They reminded him of things he saw as he was trafficked in and out of underground cage-fighting establishments. With that unsavory thought in mind and creating a substantial knot in his gut, he raised his goblet to a passing server in a silent request for a refill. At least it was a dry wine– none of that sickly sweet fruity junk. The bitter taste blended well with his bitter heart.

"To the brim, please," he told the server in a low growl, "I don't do that little dribble in the bottom of the glass like some fancy priss. That's annoying and makes people like you have to work harder."

He could smell the fear surrounding the server as the poor scrawny fellow couldn't seem to avert his gaze from the ivory fangs that bared in a wolfish grin. He was about to amuse himself with continued intimidation when Lord Myrkr spoke up in one of Fenris's native languages. The server scurried away as first the white wolf's ears turned, then his eyes shifted, to the dark one.

"Hmm," he grunted in response around another deep pull of wine, "Crushing the overly-inflated skulls of Muuns and snapping their spindly greedy fingers one by one does have its allure."

He scowled at Lord Taranos's thunderous voice. Speaking of interdimensional wormhole clouds, he thought with annoyance as his gaze swept over the room yet again, but he became fully attuned to the Empress as she mentioned full-scale ground assault. Finally! War table talk instead of this politically correct gobbledygook with caviar and finger sandwiches. And ground assault just so happened to be a role he and his elite thrived in.

The mention of a new conquest effectively served to wash away most of the seething voices clouding Ekrizdis Cygni’s perceptions. Muunilist certainly rang a few faint bells, and the IGBC’s importance even Ekrizdis’ faulty memory could not underestimate. In a ground assault Ekrizdis Cygni certainly possessed a strong advantage, in an ideal setting they needed only to disappear, and catch the target off guard.

“As you will it my liege, it shall be done,” the Nagai replied simply enough, but they remained rapt for any additional orders. Conquest was never as simple as wanting it, and seizing what appeared to be an opportune moment. “What of names, does intel provide any insight as to who might be waiting?”

Another few taps on the data pad. “I’ve sent you all the intel report from the scouts, as well as the current battle plan. For now,” Leto glanced over her shoulder, then around the room, and the air seemed to gather a more serious tension. “There is another matter.” The Circle might barely notice that the servers seemed to melt away, vanishing into hallways, and the guards posted around the room seemed to stand a bit more alert. Around the table, Dark Councilors would shift in their seats.

“A murder.”

The air was still, the excitement about the plots of conquest from moments before strangled by two simple words. Dumé had not anticipated the Imperatrix to reveal the case outside of Council chambers just yet, though he could not say he was disappointed.

Maldeus grinned beneath his mask, scanning the room for reactions. The rest of the Dark Council was unaffected by the revelation, but many of the High Lords here certainly were. “Don’t worry, we’re not talking about any of you. For now, anyway.”

Skyodis raised an eyebrow at this latest revelation from the Imperatrix. Glancing around, he noticed the Dark Councillors did not seem to be particularly shocked by it. They already knew, obviously. If it was important enough to have been discussed in their chambers and then passed down here, the victim must have been someone of some prominence or renown. And it must have been recent enough that news of it had not yet filtered out. That is, if it was about a murder that had occurred. Perhaps this was a murder about to be performed.

“Forgive me, Imperatrix. Has someone been murdered, or is someone due to be murdered?” He asked respectfully, speaking for the very first time since he had arrived at the gathering.

Leto turned her eyes to Skyodis. “A senator has been murdered on Anaxes.” An image of a man, round cheeks and a few wisps of thinning hair atop his corpulent head, resolved over the hologram projector. His name, Soont Dezik, appeared below. “You may wonder how this two-bit senator might even matter to the Final Sith Order, so I will reveal to you how Dezik was an important tool to us: Dezik’s homeworld, Herrst, was generously providing us with thirty percent of its ore exports, and twenty-five percent of its labor export. This has been benefiting us greatly, as it’s what is enabling us to travel to Muunilinst– a planet that would otherwise be out of our reach. In return, Dezik has been on our bankroll, which kept him in our pocket and enabled him to campaign for policies which would benefit our Order, such as loosening trade restrictions on heavy metals.” Leto folded her arms. “As you can imagine, his murder puts a bit of a crimp in things for us. Without Dezik conducting our agreements on the sly, those ore and labor exports set aside for us will go away, and his trade campaign has dissolved.”

“Since it was determined the Dark Council– the only ones who knew about our arrangement with Dezik– is not at fault for his untimely death, I’ve decided the investigation into his murder will fall to the Circle.”

“Thank you for clarifying, Imperatrix.” Skyodis replied, nodding respectfully. His mind began to work as he sat back in his chair. It could have been a mere coincidence, after all Senators earned their fair share of enemies. Especially those whose loyalty and favor could be bought. But no, the more likely scenario was that someone who was aware of the arrangement killed Dezik to ensure it ended. But the question was, who? The Jedi were not known for employing assassins. Perhaps it was someone from Herrst itself. Someone who wished their trade deal with the Sith Order to end.

“Perhaps someone on Herrst was not fond of the trade arrangements and discovered who was behind them. This Dezik may have been careless, and someone in his own government had him killed.” Skyodis hypothesized, leaving out that in his opinion the Senator most likely let something slip when intoxicated.

Cold stayed quiet for a moment, but a smile could be seen emerging across his face as the Imperatrix told them the matter of the murder would be discovered by the Circle. Information, and secrets were two things that excited him. The idea of ripping it from their minds was exquisite, especially if he had free reign to do so to find a murderer. “My Empress, there might be more bodies dropped soon to find this murderer. How quiet do you want this investigation?”

Ekrizdis silently contemplated the murder, and the crushing cost of losing someone in such a position. While the Nagai’s face didn't change, ire racked their emotions. This was an era in which furtive alliances were of greatest value. Ekrizdis didn’t exactly consider themselves a detective, but they were well versed in the art of the silent kill. It wasn’t too difficult to reverse that training into investigating. “Do we know the manner of death? Do we have holograms of the crime scene or an autopsy report?”

A murder? How fun! Though, losing the labor and metals wasn’t. Still, Achlys’ ears pricked up and her eyes glinted with glee at Lord Cold’s question. Yes, she wouldn’t mind seeing if there were any fauna she could use in her experiments on Muunilinst, but having to track down a murderer…. That is an art! Not to mention that maybe she’ll gain at least one new volunteer. She watched the Empress closely to see how she was going to respond.

Töricht sat as if made of stone as he soaked in all of the information the Empress had laid out before them. Plans of overtaking the IGBC and gaining an abundance of wealth to further the Sith and in turn Utapau. He trailed off as thoughts of what that wealth meant to the Sith and what it could mean for his people.

Murder... a single word caught his attention as he snapped back to the here and now. It seemed that a crucial ally had been murdered and now Töricht, with his fellow High Lords, had been assigned the task of investigating this Dezik's unfortunate fate. His eyes, dry and gummy, fluttered several times before shifting his attention to the report on the datapad, it felt as if he hadn't blinked the whole time she had spoken. The Rex Principius studied all the details of the topic as the others asked their questions, as he wasn't one to ask many questions especially when he had all the information he needed right in front of him.

His soft pointed ears– along with every other form of ears in the room– perked as the word "murder" fell from Leto's lips. A quick acceleration of his heart rate made Fenris recall the murder of his master Darth Artaith. He often wondered if that act would one day catch up with him, but recalling the Rule of Two dismissed his concern. He chose to live by that rule once he learned about it. After all, he had fulfilled it by becoming stronger and wiser than his master and that was why she had perished in his wrath.

Ah, a soft stuffed shirt was dead, as most damned politicians should be in his mind. He kept his feral feelings on the back burner, however. Those would be unloaded in due time and Force help whoever was unfortunate enough to be in his way when that happened. He understood the concerns of the Empress though. Politicians were no more than puppets on strings and now the Empire– his pack– had one less puppet to operate through and whoever committed the murder could very well be a threat to the pack later on. Or maybe sooner than any of them thought.

“You’ll be forwarded all the proper reports,” Leto said in response to Ekrizdis’ questions. “For now, I need four Lords to helm this investigation. Two to canvas the Senate, one to investigate Herrst’s government, and one to be the silent blade to cut out any squealing rats along the way. You’ll take small teams with you from the ranks of the Order to aid you in this.” Leto, at last, fell back into her chair, and picked up her mug of ale. “The rest of you will go with me to Muunilinst.” She drank.

Setting down the mug, she pointed at four figures around the table: Maldeus, Achlys, Töricht, and Cold. “You four will do.”

Maldeus nodded in response. He already had something in mind. “Your will be done.”

Cold winked with a smile when he was pointed at, and then bowed his head in response. “Of course my liege. I strive to serve.”

“Very good,” Leto said. “It’s settled, then. We will convene tomorrow to discuss the investigation. And the rest of you,” she said to the table at large, “shall prepare to close the fist of the Final Sith Order around Muunilinst!” She lifted her ale in a toast, and all around the table did the same. It was then that the lights brightened and the servers returned, bringing out ever more fine foods, and– to Nocturnus’ delight, Leto was sure– the first of many platters of dessert.

As Fenris raised his half-empty goblet in the toast initiated by Leto, the server he had harassed earlier hurried over and topped him off, straight to the brim once again. The white wolf chuckled and took a skimming sip off the top so as not to spill it. He could feel the buzz of the alcohol beginning to ease his tensions, three glasses later on an empty stomach. Well… a mostly empty stomach. It would never be truly empty. Moonshine or whiskey would have hit much harder and faster, but at least now he might be able to enjoy some of the untouched food in front of him. He took up a nicely prepared drumstick leg of some edible creature and ripped the meat from the bone savagely with his teeth. Now that the wine had finally begun to do its job, this social scene was not so bad after all.

Tymon was indeed delighted to see the arrival of dessert, many desserts in fact, and he made a point of waiving down a server to ensure that one of each were to be delivered to him. Conquest, murder, dessert, most banquets were dull affairs but this one finally lived up to the anticipation of the event. As he grabbed a fork and evaluated the assorted delicacies before him he also considered how fortunate he was to not be assigned to the investigation, the higher profile conquest would serve to grant higher status and infamy within the Empire. He intended to make the most of the opportunity to ensure that the House of the Profane was in a position to ensure victory for their Empress, now was the time to make a move and solidify his position as the Alpha Sith in the Circle of Lords. Pie! He wasn’t too sure what it was, it looked like some kind of berry, but it didn’t really matter. The pie didn’t last long.

Dumé smiled softly at the Bimm’s fascination over the desserts. The pie was, indeed, delicious, as he tasted it through the retracting slit in his mask’s mouth. It was rare to have such delicacies in the galaxy as baked good with real, fresh berries. Here, with his only real friend, he could not help but wonder if the galaxy would ever see a day again where great feasts would once more be a staple of the average week. If these conquests proved fruitful and the Sith Empire thrived, he promised himself that the era that followed would be one of peace. He would ensure it.

Myrkr looked at his empty cup and then around to his fellow Lords and Ladies, such power in this room, he thought. He wanted a chance to show the galaxy that the Sith were a power that could not be challenged easily, and if it meant the prissy bankers would have to die, then so be it.

When the word ‘murder’ came up, Myrkr's ears perked up; he hadn't killed anyone lately that wasn't approved. He thought back till it was revealed that it was just a senator, an important one if you could believe it. He sat back and raised his empty cup when a toast was called and, in native Shistavanen, he spoke, "May the Sith rule all once again."

It would be a magnificent conquest, Leto thought as she reached for some tasty-looking little pastry with jam dolloped on top, made all the more mighty by her campaign to bring the Final Sith Order into a new dawn. With the riches from Muunilinst, the Order could afford better fuel, better resources, better politics… a better life. Yes, she would conquer until the Empire had all it could ever need or want. A tiny zealous spark lit in her eyes. This was her Empire. Her Empire. She knew she would be its sword until the day she died– if such a day ever came.

Tomorrow was a new day, and the Final Sith Order would surge ever ahead, blazing its path through the galaxy. This new golden age would bring power and prosperity to all.

~ Written in collaboration with the Circle of Lords and Dark Council ~​